


I'll Crawl Home to Him

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), COVID 19, Coronavirus, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley was the angel of healing, Established Relationship, Friend Insert, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pestilence (Good Omens) - Freeform, Pestilence is out of retirement, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sick Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sickfic, Songfic, Temporary Character Death, Title from a Hozier Song, lots of angst but we'll get there in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23337910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "They should have let me burn." Crowley stared down at his shaking hands, looking between them as if he could see the angel they had once held. "They should have stopped me from ever getting near him."You cannot atone for the crimes you commit against yourself. Too many people learned this during the Covid-19 pandemic, but Crowley, former angel of healing, former lover of Aziraphale, never thought he’d count himself among them.Title inspired by the song that plays throughout the fic, “Work Song” by Hozier
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a joke for a friend and thus goes on a throwaway account. Please do not judge me as a person or as a writer for what you may discover herein. Godspeed.

Crowley and Aziraphale were more than happy to follow the rest of London in entering social distancing as the Covid-19 pandemic swept the world. Aziraphale never passed up an opportunity to keep pesky customers away from his beloved books, and though Crowley would never admit it, he welcomed the idea of having Aziraphale all to himself for the upcoming weeks. Rather than facing the hordes in the shops, Crowley simply miracled the cabinets full of Aziraphale’s favorite foods, feeling quite smug about the cooking date he had planned for tonight. He surveyed the ingredients carefully arranged on the narrow countertops of Aziraphale’s small kitchen, then snapped his fingers just before Aziraphale stepped over the threshold. The song Crowley privately considered to be Theirs began to croon from the record player wedged in the corner as his husband planted a kiss on his temple.

_I just think about my baby_

_I’m so full of love I could barely eat._

“So that explains your lack of appetite,” Aziraphale said teasingly. He reached over Crowley’s shoulder for the bowl of pears. “Now, you leave dessert to me.”

“Always, angel,” Crowley smirked. He busied himself over the stove, adding a variety of chopped vegetables to the broth simmering there, while Aziraphale deftly prepared his favorite tarts. Either of them could have waved a hand and miracled a steaming dinner into existence, but working together on their meal the human way made their quiet evenings together feel far more special. Crowley stirred the soup slowly and couldn’t resist an adoring peek at his focused angel as he worked.

This had become their routine over the past ten days. Neither of them felt the same anxiety that gripped the city; they were still too giddy from their recent aversion of the apocalypse and subsequent marriage nearly six months ago to let anything disturb their joy. Besides, in their 6,000 years on Earth, they had remained untouched by human diseases. Crowley wasn’t sure whether this was because their corporations weren’t quite human enough to become sick or because of some residual power still protecting them from his days as Raphael, angel of healing. Either way, his only concern about the coronavirus was for the humans who would suffer its effects. On the last day before Aziraphale had closed up his shop and the two had quietly remained indoors like their neighbors, when Crowley had gone on a final curious stroll throughout Soho, the tinges of panic and sorrow in the air were nearly suffocating. Waves of grief still crashed into him whenever he expanded his consciousness to explore the inward states of the thousands of souls nearby. Humans were dying, far too many of them. Long ago, when Crowley had been Raphael, he may have been able to do something to stop it, to help. But those abilities had burned with his opaline wings millenia past. Rather than letting regret and self-loathing consume him as it once had, Crowley found solace in the steadiness of his husband’s presence. Slowly but surely, Aziraphale was teaching Crowley to believe that his existence had purpose, that his demonic form didn’t negate the love and goodness within. They could help in other ways, Aziraphale had reminded him. Just because Crowley couldn’t save everyone with a wave of his hand didn’t make him worthless. They could work together to pick up the pieces in their neighborhood once the worst had blown over, even if they couldn’t do anything to stop the force of the pandemic as it ravaged the world they had come to love so dearly. And after all, humans were remarkably resilient little things. Crowley had watched them overcome mass sickness many times before, and he felt sure that they would rise above the pain stronger and more glorious than ever. He reminded himself of this every time he looked at his husband.

Aziraphale gave Crowley’s arm a gentle squeeze before taking the ladle from his hand and nudging him aside. “Here, let me.” He took over preparing the rest of the meal, as he always did, and Crowley leaned against the countertop to watch him.

_When my time comes around,_

_Lay me gently in the cold dark earth._

Hozier’s voice continued to play softly, comfortably filling the silence as Aziraphale bustled around the kitchen. Crowley had always found the strange forest man’s voice both soothing and disconcerting, like a reminder of the celestial world above and a mockery of the utter temporariness of the Earth they walked at once. The song looped again as Aziraphale miracled the finished meal into dishes and onto the cozy table for two by the record player.

Crowley dropped into a chair unceremoniously. Aziraphale sank into the other, rubbing his eyes distractedly. Crowley took a few bites of the food they had prepared, but the real joy he got from sharing a meal was in watching Aziraphale eat. The angel’s pleasure in such simple human delights may have been what drove him apart from the rest of the heavenly host, but it was also what drove him to Crowley. However, tonight he seemed barely more interested in the food than Crowley was. He stirred the soup in its porcelain bowl, staring down at it as if he was looking through it to something else, for the length of another loop of “Work Song” before Crowley reached across the table to take his hand.

“All right, Angel?”

“Oh! Yes,” Aziraphale said, startled but smiling at his husband. “Only, it seems I’m not hungry after all. Been a long day, you know, reading… I think I’d rather just lie down now.”

“Before dessert?” Crowley said teasingly, miming a gasp.

Aziraphale only gave another tired smile before standing. “Yes, I think so.”

This was unusual in the sense that Aziraphale almost never passed up an opportunity for sweets, but Crowley shrugged it off. He was more than eager to begin the next phase of their evening routine, which consisted of Aziraphale nestled comfortably in his arms with a book as they lounged on the soft, wide sofa in the back of the shop. Crowley usually fell asleep in this position and would awaken the next morning still wrapped around his angel, who rarely slept and would still be flipping through the pages of some book of poetry or another.

The demon flopped into the sofa and scooted against its welcoming back. Aziraphale joined him but did not pick up a book from the stack awaiting him on the side table. He simply turned toward his husband and pressed his face into the lapels of his jacket with a quiet sigh.

“All right, Angel?” Crowley asked for the second time, brows furrowed. He ran a hand through Aziraphale’s downy white curls.

“Just… just tired,” replied Aziraphale’s muffled voice. He snuggled closer.

Crowley held him tight and continued to play with Aziraphale’s hair as he looked down at him. The barest twinge of worry flitted through his mind. Aziraphale had only been tired a handful of times in the 6,000 years that they’d known each other, usually after performing some kind of major miracle that drained his heavenly strength, but never after a typical day of reading and organizing his shelves. Still, Crowley himself understood the urge to rest mind and body as the humans do. Maybe it would be nice to doze off together for once. He closed his eyes, continuing to gently brush through his husband’s curls until his hand dropped as he drifted into sleep.

_I woke with his walls around me_

_Nothing in the room but an empty crib_

_And I was burning up a fever_

_I didn’t care much how long I lived._

Crowley was pulled from his sleep by the slight movement in his arms. He tightened them around Aziraphale, eyes unopened, still in a haze of sleep, until the movement happened again and he realized his angel was shaking.

“Aziraphale?” he whispered.

Aziraphale shifted. “I’m sorry, dear boy,” he answered softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

His body shook again and this time Crowley heard the muffled, choked sound he made.

“You’re coughing.” Crowley sat up now, pinpricks of concern erupting across his mind. Angels don’t cough.

“Just a - ” Another stifled cough. “A bit of a dry throat, I think.”

Instantly, a glass of cool water was in Crowley’s hand. “Here.”

Aziraphale accepted the glass and sipped. Another cough threatened to burst from his throat as he swallowed, and he nearly spat out the water. Now Crowley was really worried. Aziraphale had never acted like this before, had never shown any sign of human weakness, and he didn’t like it. Surely this wasn’t …?

“I just… would just like to lie down again,” Aziraphale murmured, leaning back against Crowley’s chest.

“Of course, angel.” Crowley pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s forehead as they shifted back onto the sofa together, and the little jolts of concern exploded into an entire electric show.

Aziraphale’s skin was blazing with fever.


	2. Chapter 2

_ My baby never fret none _

_ About what my hands and my body done _

_ If the lord don't forgive me _

_ I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me _

Aziraphale’s too-hot skin seared Crowley’s heart like hellfire. No, this couldn’t be right. Angels didn’t get sick, and they certainly didn’t get fevers. Crowley could feel his grip on Aziraphale growing tighter and tighter, matching the panicked sensation in his own chest. 

_ Stop,  _ he warned himself.  _ You’ll only scare him. Think clearly.  _

Aziraphale nestled closer, unaware of the thoughts galloping through Crowley’s mind. He lurched a little as he fought to control another cough and sighed when he was unable to. 

Crowley rubbed his back slowly. He still had low level healing powers. Maybe he could chase the cough and fever away. He closed his eyes and spread his fingers between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, reaching with his consciousness to  _ push  _ whatever sickness this was from his angel’s corporation. Nothing happened. 

Crowley wasn’t surprised. Since he Fell and lost his powers, his healing abilities had been limited to minor injuries like cuts and sprained ankles. Still, he had to try, had to see if there was any way he could ease whatever intruder was coursing through his husband’s veins. He gave another push, not expecting anything to happen. 

Something pushed back. 

“Oh shit,” Crowley breathed. Eyes still closed, he let his consciousness tentatively push again.

Resistance. 

_ Pestilence, you bitch,  _ he thought, gritting his teeth.  _ You’re supposed to be in retirement.  _

“Crowley?” Aziraphale squirmed to be able to look up at him. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s…” Crowley hesitated.  _ It’s nothing,  _ he wanted to say, but Aziraphale would know he was lying. He didn’t want to worry his angel, didn’t want to distract him from resting, but he knew he had to continue. “Pestilence. This is Pestilence’s work.”

“Pestilence? But she’s - ”

“I know what she’s supposed to be doing. Maybe she got bored. Decided to have one last joyride. I dunno.”

Aziraphale’s sky blue eyes were clouded with something, worry maybe, but they cleared as understanding dawned on his face after another cough shook his chest. “It’s the virus, isn’t it? Coronavirus.”

“Must be.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale touched his own chest as if he could feel the virus working inside his corporation. “Well, I’m sure it’ll pass. Must be strong to have infected  _ me,  _ but I’ll be fine. Most are, and I’m more than healthy.”

“Ngk.” Crowley began stroking his husband’s hair again, the angel’s calm settling some of the wild thoughts that were beginning to dominate his mind. Aziraphale always had that effect on him, made him feel that nothing bad could touch them in a way that mattered. 

“Yes, yes. Well, good thing we closed up shop already. I’ll just rest and this’ll pass in a few days and - oh, Crowley!” Suddenly Aziraphale sat up and moved away from the demon. “You should go to your old flat, leave me to quarantine so you don’t catch this from me.”

“Don’t be silly, Angel,” Crowley said, reaching for him. “I’ve already been exposed, and besides, there’s still enough of the old juice pumping inside to protect me. Not even Pestilence’s work can get too close to me.” 

Aziraphale was evidently too tired to argue. He curled up against Crowley’s chest once more, another cough racking through him more forcefully. 

Crowley cradled him close, repeating a mantra of  _ He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine  _ until he almost convinced himself. Sleep, he knew, was its own kind of healing miracle, so he continued brushing Aziraphale’s curls as gently as possible to help him relax enough to hopefully fall asleep again. After all, offering Aziraphale comfort while his body worked to fight off the virus was the least he could do after the centuries of comfort Aziraphale had given him. As he held the fitful angel in his arms, Crowley’s mind wandered across various scenes of the unusual pair’s history together, especially those more recent, since they had finally verbally acknowledged their mutual love, cherishing the memories of all the times Aziraphale had calmed and helped him. He pressed another fond kiss to the top of the angel’s head.

The next few hours passed much the same. Crowley held his husband, and Aziraphale tried to sleep between the coughs that slowly grew more loud and insistent. Still, Crowley managed to stave off his anxiety until Aziraphale’s body suddenly convulsed in a cough far stronger than the others. The angel immediately shot upward into a sitting position, hands clawing at his throat as the cough broke free in angry, jagged gasps.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley jolted upward alongside him, hands outstretched as if to help.

Aziraphale’s blue eyes met Crowley’s golden ones, a fresh fear mirroring between them. “It’s - I can’t - oh - bother, I can’t - ”

_ Breathe,  _ Crowley’s brain supplied helpfully,  _ he can’t breathe. _

“Sh shshsh,” he said instead. “Look, nice and slow. In through the nose and out through the mouth. There you go.”

Aziraphale followed his demonstration to the best of his ability, but it was clear that the action was a painful struggle. His eyes were going wider by the second, pupils blowing out as he realized the new gravity of the situation. His lungs rattled threateningly as they demanded another burst of oxygen through the raspy coughs pouring endlessly from his throat. 

“That’s it, Angel, that’s it,” Crowley said with as much positivity and encouragement as he could muster. It was a precious small amount, but he couldn’t let Aziraphale feel the panic now snaking through his mind.

Aziraphale, however, was much too distracted trying to retain enough breath to stay conscious to feel the fear rolling off of Crowley. 

_ Boy’s working on empty _

_ Is that the kind of way to face the burning heat? _

Hozier’s voice drifted from the kitchen, where the song was still playing endlessly on the recorder, like a pointed suggestion.

“Right as usual, bog man,” Crowley muttered. Maybe some sustenance would help Aziraphale, give him some strength to battle whatever was taking place in his body. “Here, Angel, sit and sip.” He handed him a fresh glass of water before loping into the kitchen. 

Hozier’s humming kept him company while he reheated the previous night’s dinner with a glance and loaded a bowl of soup and a pear tart onto a tray. 

He knew from the news articles he’d glanced over recently that Covid-19 was a fairly fast moving virus, but he had completely underestimated how Pestilence’s handiwork would manifest in a celestial being. When he stepped back into the living room, it was if Aziraphale had languished in sickness for days rather than moments. His face was pale, almost grey, but his eyes were watery and reddening as he choked out cough after cough, each weaker than the last. Two small, flushed dots decorated his cheeks.

Crowley felt the tray slipping from his hands as he bolted to Aziraphale, dropping to his knees beside him and grabbing his hands in his own. They were almost unbearably hot. “Angel, Angel,  _ please,  _ breathe!”

“Trying,” Aziraphale grunted breathlessly. His head lolled forward, almost colliding with Crowley’s own.

Crowley’s mind raced, a fully fledged panic attack threatening his ability to think clearly. This was all wrong. Aziraphale’s angelic essence should have been able to fight the virus back with ease, but instead it was succumbing even more quickly than most humans were. Had Pestilence included some kind of targeted attack, some subtle nuance that would take down a celestial corporation in ways that regular diseases couldn’t?

There clearly was no time to consider  _ how  _ it was happening because  _ what  _ was happening was too urgent. Aziraphale’s body was fully sagging, and he seemed but seconds from collapse. The ragged wheezes escaping his parted lips between each painful cough were like droplets of holy water to Crowley’s soul. He couldn’t watch his husband suffer, couldn’t afford to wait any longer for the heavenly survival instincts to kick in and fight back against the coronavirus. There was only one thing to do, only one person he could think of who might be able to offer immediate help.

He had read about a doctor at one of London’s many hospitals, someone who’d had almost the highest number of surviving Covid-19 patients in the city. Their name was Dr. Curtis Nathan James and Crowley was sure they could help Aziraphale overcome the virus currently robbing his lungs of function. 

“That’s it, Angel, come on,” he whispered, wrapping loving arms around his husband and tugging him onto his feet. “We’re going to get you some help.”

Aziraphale protested weakly, something about not wanting to take resources from the humans, and Crowley felt his heart swell with affection for his ever selfless angel. Aziraphale was too preoccupied with trying to breathe through the coughs to offer much resistance, though, and Crowley led him as quickly as he dared out of the shop and into the Bentley that awaited outside. 

“You’re going to be okay,” he said reassuringly as he helped Aziraphale into the passenger seat, though he wasn’t sure whether he was reassuring his husband or himself. 

Hozier’s soft voice crooned from the speakers as Crowley turned the ignition and pulled away from the shops toward the hospital.

_ When my time comes around _

_ Lay me gently in the cold dark earth. _

_ No grave can hold my body down _

_ I’ll crawl home to him.  _


	3. The Angel of Small Death and Covid-19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some POV hopping. It's time for shameless friend insert.

Dr. Curtis Nathan James was almost the top coronavirus doctor in London, and that title came with a high price. They hadn’t left the hospital in at least four days now, snatching broken bits of sleep when they could. They were exhausted. But they pressed on, knowing that any moment of weakness could be a life or death moment for a patient. 

They’d had many of those moments. Luckily, Curtis’ skills as a budding Covid-19 specialist had resulted in the majority of the patients surviving. Most of those patients blurred together despite Curtis’ best intentions. The one before them now, they were suddenly sure, would not be one.

They were a strange couple, a gangly ginger holding tight to a softly shaped man with hair the color of buttermilk. The latter was clearly the sick one; he slumped against the other man as if his bones had lost structure, and the wheezes and coughs coming from his mouth sounded like a maraca. It was bad, Curtis could tell. 

“Name?” they asked as they grabbed the chart the nurse had left to read the patient’s stats.

“Aziraphale,” the ginger supplied.

“Your relation?”

“Husband.” The voice was tight, prepared to be defensive.

Curtis nearly found a smile to spare. They themself were a flaming homosexual, so seeing other queer couples usually filled them with warmth and a sense of belonging. Today, though, it might just make the news they had to bear more difficult than ever. “I’m sorry, um…”

“Crowley,” came the answer.

“I’m sorry, Crowley, but the test did come back positive. It’s coronavirus.”

“I bloody knew that, didn’t I?” Crowley’s face twisted in what may have been an attempt at a snarl before it crumpled with the loss of whatever hope he may have been clinging to. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone for that last walk before we isolated, I’m the one who brought it into our home, this is my fault!”

Curtis hesitated, not sure how they could respond that wouldn’t sound damning or false. “I’m afraid your husband will need to go into quarantine,” they said instead.

“You can shove that back into the ass it fell out of. I’m not leaving him,” Crowley interrupted fiercely.

Curtis opened their mouth to argue, but suddenly felt that it was unimportant and moved on. “We need to get him on a ventilator before it’s too late,” they said instead.

“Too late?” Crowley looked stricken and tightened his arms around his husband.

Aziraphale moved for the first time, seeming to try to pat Crowley’s arms comfortingly but settling for a weak brush against his hand. 

Crowley captured the hand in his own and cradled it like an infant, looking beseechingly from his husband to the doctor. “Then get on with it!”

Curtis was already in the doorway, calling for the nurse. “Send them to the ICU, he needs a ventilator ASAP.”

  
  


_ But I swear I thought I dreamed him _

_ He never asked me once about the wrong I did. _

_ Fuck, not again. _ Curtis reached into the pocket of their white coat to retrieve their glitching iPod. They simply couldn’t make it stop playing this song; no matter how many times they turned down the volume, that damned cryptid’s voice kept drifting through the speakers. The sound, strangely, seemed to soothe Aziraphale’s anxious husband, so Curtis dropped the iPod back into their pocket and stopped fighting. Hozier probably knew what he was doing.

  
  


Aziraphale was moving through space blindly. He could hear sounds as if they were floating through a thick blanket, and he could feel his body being jostled around, feel hands on him, but he could not see through the haze of light that surrounded him. It was almost like being in Heaven, with its too-bright lights that made everything out of focus and the sense of being out of control of his own body.

“You’re doing so well, angel,” came Crowley’s voice, cutting through the confusion.

Ah, so not Heaven. Better. Aziraphale would have smiled if there hadn’t been something in his mouth, obstructing his lips from obeying his mental command. This might have been frightening had he not felt so completely sure that Crowley would take care of him, that he would never let anything bad happen to him while he dreamed. 

It was not a nice dream though. Every time he truly drifted away from consciousness, a raw burning in his chest that erupted through his dry throat jerked him back to the thin excuse for awareness that held him captive. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he and Crowley had entered the hospital, he still gasping for air as he leaned into Crowley’s support, Crowley flagging down a worn looking nurse who eventually took them into a room where he was unpleasantly tested for the virus. 

Crowley’s voice made its way through the murk again, this time sharp with panic. 

_ Oh, that won’t do.  _ Aziraphale wanted to comfort his demon, take the fright away. Crowley had spent so long being afraid, and Aziraphale had spent almost as long soothing him. It was only within the past six, glorious months of marriage that his husband had truly begun to release the self-hatred, the fears of unworthiness, in exchange for love and security. The idea that Aziraphale’s sickness might threaten that security he’d worked so hard to help grow was painful enough to jerk him out of his haze and into the real world again, just in time to hear the gentle voice of the doctor - what was their name again? - who’d seen them earlier. 

“I’ve never seen a case this severe,” they were saying. “I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing more we can do.”

“Ngk - no!” Crowley protested, the anguish in his voice more painful to Aziraphale than the cut of the coughs in his lungs. “There has to be! He was fine just yesterday, he was!”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said again, and they sounded like they meant it. “You should make the most of the time you have left.”

“You’re supposed to be the best bloody coronavirus doctor in London!” Crowley shouted. 

“Only almost the best coronavirus doctor in London,” the doctor replied sadly. 

Aziraphale’s mind worked more sluggishly than usual, but he understood what was happening. The virus, crafted so elegantly by Pestilence, former horseman of the apocalypse, was killing his corporation. From the pain wracking his body, Aziraphale felt sure that he hadn’t long left. A great misfortune. He’d kept this body safe for centuries, had loved his demon with this body, had grown  _ comfortable  _ in this body. Yet it’s expiration shouldn’t be more than an inconvenience, a minor setback in an immortal life that could not, at its core, be destroyed by illness. 

At least, that’s how it had been once. 

What Aziraphale slowly realized, what he was certain Crowley had already deduced, if the great sobs pouring from his bedside were any indication, was that things had changed. They had averted the Apocalypse, they had thrown up their middle fingers at Heaven and Hell and cut ties with their respective sides. 

Heaven wasn’t likely to just hand him a new body after that.

No, Aziraphale knew in his heart of hearts that once his consciousness slipped from this body, he would never again receive the form necessary to leave Heaven. He would be trapped up there in the hated brightness, away from his husband forever. The thought was rending in its horror. To never see Crowley again, to never spend another night in his arms, was a fate worse than Falling. Not only for himself and the pain the separation would cause him, but for how he knew it would destroy the demon he had grown to call his lover. The same lover who was now crying beside the hospital bed, pleading for  _ Someone  _ to intervene.

Suddenly, Aziraphale didn’t care about himself as much. He had suffered loss before, he was strong, and though it would hurt him terribly to lose Crowley, he knew it would be nothing compared to the hurt Crowley would feel at losing him.  _ He has to be okay,  _ Aziraphale thought desperately. 

_ No grave can hold my body down _

_ I’ll crawl home to him. _

“Work Song” was playing from somewhere, and the words stabbed Aziraphale through the heart.  _ No, I never will come home to him again,  _ he thought sorrowfully.  _ So I have to make these last moments count.  _ After all, this was a huge moment for them and one that would eternally change the way they were able to share love. They’d shared plenty of  _ small deaths  _ over the course of their history, but never a big death like this. 

Reaching deep within himself to the celestial powers brewing in his essence, Aziraphale mustered the strength for one last miracle: clear lungs and a clear mind, the span of a few moments in which he would be able to breathe and speak normally so he could leave Crowley with the message he knew he needed.

“Aziraphale!” choked Crowley as the angel opened his eyes.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said tenderly, moving a hand pierced by an IV needle to cover Crowley’s. “You mustn’t cry.”

Crowley swiped at his eyes savagely, but to no avail. Tears of grief and rage continued to pool there. “This isn’t right, it isn’t fair. We should have had eternity… I’ll destroy Pestilence, if it’s the last thing I do!”

“No, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. He didn’t have the strength to sit up, so he continued to hold his demon’s hand as tightly as he could. “Listen to me, my love. You cannot be angry. It will only hurt you more.”

“Aziraphale, we deserved more… no,  _ you  _ deserved more. More than this, more than me. You deserved eternity, angel!” Crowley bent to press a kiss into Aziraphale’s hot cheek. “I need the anger, I need…” His voice trailed off into a sob. “I need you.”

“Darling, you will be fine. You always are,” Aziraphale said bracingly.

“Because of  _ you _ ! I’ve always known I was okay because I had you!  _ You  _ are the one who’s made things better, made me feel that I was something more than  _ this thing  _ God made me when I Fell! You’re the only thing that - ” Crowley’s breath caught in his throat and he looked away. “That made me want to stay here. Without you, there’s no point in  _ me _ .”

“No, no, no, Crowley, please don’t say that!” Aziraphale pleaded. But he wasn’t surprised. Crowley’s self-hatred had always lurked too threateningly close to the surface, had always caused Aziraphale to fear that it would one day become too much for the demon to bear. 

Crowley couldn’t respond. He simply wept.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began again, very softly. “You are the most beautiful thing on this earth. You are what has made these past 6,000 years on Earth so glorious to me. Only you. And I need… I need you to  _ stay _ . Stay you, stay here. Take care of my bookshop. It’s my legacy and I need it to last. Please.” He could feel the miracle wearing away, could feel his lungs beginning to close up again, so he spoke as quickly as possible. “Never forget how much I love you, Crowley. Never forget that these six months of marriage have been more than I ever thought I would have deserved. Never forget - ” He suddenly gasped, a desperate pull for air that would not come. His corporation began to tense, sensing the end was nigh.

“No, Aziraphale, please, I’m not ready! I never got to - I never told you - Aziraphale, you can’t leave me!” Crowley cried desperately.

Aziraphale managed to keep his eyes open long enough to hold Crowley’s wretched gaze as he whispered to his husband, one last time, “Take care of my books when I can’t.”

What Aziraphale knew, and what he knew that Crowley knew by the screeching sob he let out, was that what he meant was “Take care of my demon when I can’t.”

Then his corporation released the last bit of life it could hold, and his essence was tugged free and away from Earth as Crowley screamed after him, “I love you!”

_ When my time comes around _

_ Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth _

_ No grave could hold my body down _

_ I’ll crawl home to him. _


	4. Chapter 4

_ When I was kissing on my baby _

_ And he put his love down soft and sweet _

_ In the lowland plot I was free _

_ Heaven and hell were words to me _

  
  


Crowley watched his husband’s essence depart his corporation and felt it disappear from Earth, felt the very moment he was left alone forever. “I love you!” he cried, hoping against hope that Aziraphale had heard him and would respond. 

But there was only a horrible silence that began to be filled by the dull ringing of the machines hooked to his husband’s body, announcing his demise like a crier of the olden days, and a loud wail that Crowley almost didn’t recognize as his own. He felt himself collapsing, falling onto Aziraphale’s lifeless body. Too soon! It had happened so quickly! This time yesterday they were sitting down for a quiet meal in their home, and now - now there was no  _ their. _ His angel’s precious body had been destroyed by Pestilence’s handiwork and Crowley knew Heaven would never grant him another. They would do anything in their power to save themselves from the disgrace of having a member of the heavenly host bound to one of the Fallen, already had done so much to keep them apart. For all intents and purposes, Aziraphale was dead to Crowley. Lost to him forever. 

_ Alone,  _ cried the broken voice in Crowley’s mind as he wept across his angel’s empty corporation.  _ Alone again, like I was always damned to be! _

He felt someone touching him, trying to raise him off the hospital bed, and he snarled, hands scrabbling to hold tight to the body. 

“Sir,” came the tight, pained voice of that bloody useless doctor. “There’s nothing you can do, Mr. Crowley, please.”

“Leave me!” Crowley shouted. “Don’t touch him!” His eyes glinted dangerously, more venomous than ever as he lifted his head slightly to face Curtis. 

They took half a step backward, hands raised. “Sir…”

A sob caught in Crowley’s throat. “Just give me a few minutes. Before you move him.  _ Please. _ ”

“Ten minutes,” Curtis said quietly. They hesitated. “I’m so sorry for your loss, I’ve - I’ve never seen it work so quickly. I wish I could’ve done more.” Then they turned and left the room, closing the door carefully behind themself. 

Crowley looked back down at the shell of the angel that had been his lover, his soulmate. Already it looked nothing like him. There was nothing of the gentleness around his eyes and mouth, none of the cozy earnestness that had always soothed Crowley into a sense of safety he hadn’t known since the Fall. He was simply a husk, the body a tool to carry what mattered about its business on Earth. It was a stark reminder that Aziraphale was gone and that Crowley was on his own. 

Slowly, he climbed off the bed and sunk to his knees beside it, unable to take his eyes off of Aziraphale’s abandoned corporation. “I did this,” he whispered. “It’s what I do, I’m a demon. I brought destruction and desolation to the one good thing left in the universe. Oh…  _ fuck.”  _ The pain was unbearable. Foolish, foolish demon to think he could be happy! To think he could love something without tainting it! To think he  _ deserved  _ the love and light Aziraphale had brought into his world! It would have been better for God to have smote his ruin all that time ago, to have been wiped off the planes of existence when he Fell, than to have lived in wretchedness for so long, only to have hope and happiness ripped from him once he allowed himself to believe he could have them!

“They should have let me burn _. _ ” Crowley stared down at his shaking hands, looking between them as if he could see the angel they had once held. “They should have stopped me from ever getting near him.” Destructive, killing creature that he was! Had Aziraphale known? Had he suspected that, in the end, Crowley would be the one to cast him out of the Earth he loved? Had he ever wondered if his husband would be the one to cause him to lose his books, his simple comforts, his joy in the things of the world? 

If Crowley could have chosen to blink out of existence at that moment, he would have. But God, with Her cruel games, had chosen once again to let him survive when he wanted only the relief of escaping his pain.

“I’m sorry, angel,” Crowley cried, looking up at his corporation again. 

The corporation didn’t move, didn’t respond, but it did begin to emanate the softest and barest of light like a hazy, white aura. 

“Oh, shit.” Crowley scrambled to his feet. In the pain of the moment, he had nearly forgotten what happened to angel corporations when they were left behind. They couldn’t be left around on earth for a human to find, so they slowly dissolved into a bit of celestial light over the course of the hour after their death. Crowley couldn’t allow Dr. Curtis and their staff to see that, to question it. He had to get Aziraphale’s body somewhere safe and private. 

Crowley removed the tubes and wires connecting Aziraphale to the useless machines around his bed, then ever so gently scooped him into his arms. He was so much lighter than he had been when he was alive, as if the cozy weight Crowley was used to holding had vanished with the angel’s consciousness. The thought ripped another anguished sob from Crowley’s chest as he cradled his husband’s body close.  _ Alone, destroyer, demon,  _ chanted the angry voice in his head. Crowley tried to block it out as he spread his wings, which were like two black holes in the fluorescent lights of the hospital room. Then he lifted off the ground and flew out the window, shooting high into the sky with his husband clutched against his chest. 

Crowley landed on the doorstep of the bookshelf and let himself inside. Hozier was still singing softly from the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the trauma waging war amongst the couple who had once shared kisses to his yearning lyrics. Crowley walked to the sofa and reverently placed Aziraphale’s body on its soft cushions. He wanted to lie there, to hold his angel one last time in the safety the sofa offered, but he was afraid that feeling the last remainder of Aziraphale drift away from Earth would make the good memories they had made there unbearable. So instead, he knelt beside the sofa as if in prayer. 

_ When my time comes around _

_ Lay me gently in the cold dark earth. _

Hozier’s words rang through Crowley’s mind hollowly. No, he wouldn’t get to entrust Aziraphale to the dirt. Even that small consolation was denied him, filthy creature as he was.  _ Look at what becomes of those who dare touch what is holy,  _ Crowley thought despairingly. He brushed his hands through his husband’s white curls one last time, touched his soft skin, smoothed the wrinkles in his ridiculous waistcoat, all for the last time.  _ I tried, angel. I tried to find happiness here, tried to believe it was something I deserved.  _

Already it was becoming so hard to remember the soothing words Aziraphale had repeated to him. It was already hard to fight away the hatred Crowley had harbored for himself in his demonic state, as if the love and confidence Aziraphale had fostered was seeping out of the world just like his angel had. The thought was too much to bear.

“Why, God?” Crowley screamed, glaring upward as if he could see into Heaven. “Why would you take him from me? Wasn’t it enough to take away my powers? To take away my Grace? Wasn’t it enough to banish me down here? Could I not have one good thing? Answer me, God!”

Crowley didn’t know when he had begun to sob, but he was soon overcome with great, heaving gasps as the tears streamed from his eyes. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s chest, hands grasping onto him as if he could keep him in place a little longer. “Why, God?” he whispered again, broken at last.

A powerful voice spoke from behind him, rich and warm, filling the air until there was nothing left, tinged with amusement. “You know, my friends call me Maeve.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another shameless friend insert uwu

“You know, my friends call me Maeve,” God said.

Crowley felt the hairs rising on his neck, felt his eyes narrowing into serpentine slits, but he was too emotionally exhausted to feel the kind of fear he usually felt around the Almighty. “Friends? We’re not friends. I don’t even like you.”

“You doooo,” God said, as if this were a joke.

“What do you want?” Crowley said softly, staring determinedly down at Aziraphale’s corporation.

“I should ask you the same,” God - Maeve - Whoever said. “You’re the one who called me.”

Crowley laughed, a dull sound weighted with the pain of everything he had lost within the past hour. “So this is when you answer me, huh? Millennia of calling out, begging, praying for an answer, for forgiveness, for  _ anything.  _ And you answer me now. You show up to gloat when I’ve finally Fallen as far as possible. You and your  _ stupid fucking games _ .” Finally he turned his head to look at Her. 

She gazed impassively back, arms crossed loosely. She stood at least nine feet tall, filling up the bookshop with her formidable Earthly form. Light radiated from her skin - not the sharp, painful light of Heaven, but a gentle, tender light like that lifting from Aziraphale’s body. 

_ Shit.  _

Even after all this time, even after all the rage and grief She had caused Crowley, She still took his breath away. This was holiness. This was power. This was the thing he was too lowly even to serve.

This was the thing who allowed Crowley to lose everything over and over again.

“What do you want… Maeve?” Crowley felt numb, heard the words more than felt them leaving his mouth.

“I came for my child,” She said quietly. She moved closer, glancing between Crowley’s cautious stance and Aziraphale’s swiftly fading shell. 

“To take him from me?” Crowley drew closer to the sofa, as if he could somehow shield his husband from Her, stop Her from taking him away.

“Him? No, Crowley.” Maeve looked down at him, face unreadable. “I’m here for you.”

“Me?” he repeated. “But I’m not… I’m not your  _ child _ .” She had made that oh so clear, casting him down, throwing him out of the house like a rebellious teenager.

“Crowley, you are. You are now, and you always have been.” She extended a hand. “Stand.”

Crowley didn’t have a choice but to obey, taking her hand - it burned like a too-hot mug - and rising to his feet. 

“Just because you were sent from Heaven does not mean I no longer counted you as one of my own,” Maeve said. “Crowley, demon or angel, you have always been… precious to me.”

Crowley was bewildered. “Then… why… my powers? My wings? My name? You took it all away from me! Why? Why did you… why did you turn me into  _ this _ ?” He gestured down at his body, hating how broken he sounded. “And don’t spout some bullshit about the ineffable plan. I  _ need to know _ .”

“Did you ever consider,” Maeve said slowly, “that you were best suited to my guardian angel in this form?” She looked down at Aziraphale’s corporation, sympathy and affection blooming in her eyes. “His work here was so important, Crowley, taking care of the humans, watching and guarding them for so long. But the heavenly hosts make it… difficult on one another. Difficult to care, to feel pure love, to act without ulterior motive. I knew he needed to learn from someone, be inspired by someone, to fully come into the being he was destined to be.” 

Crowley’s brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

Maeve sighed. “Riddles for toddlers. Even after all this time, you aren’t old enough to understand.”

Suddenly afraid that She would never explain, that once again she would leave him full of questions, Crowley burst out, “Then speak more clearly!  _ Tell me! _ ”

“Aziraphale needed to learn unconditional love from someone,” Maeve said. “And you, my dear child, have always been the most perfect example of that.”

“Me?” Crowley gasped.

“Yes, you. You with your love of healing, your selfless drive to care for others, my most perfect archangel. But as an archangel you never would have been able to live permanently on Earth. I had to bring you here, where I knew you would seek out the only pure thing like a - well, like a snake seeks out the sun. You would fall for Aziraphale, and he would fall for you - but first, you had to Fall. Only then could you begin to teach Aziraphale what it means to love and protect unconditionally.”

“So… all those times he taught me to love myself, was only because I was teaching him what love is?” Crowley asked in disbelief.

“Oh, Crowley… the real love was inside you all along,” Maeve answered. 

Crowley was stunned, silent, head empty for a few moments. Then he felt anger coursing through him. “But you punished me! You took my powers! You let him die, after all of that!”

“And now I am rewarding you,” Maeve whispered. “Aziraphale isn’t dead, he simply isn’t here. He could come back.”

“Only an archangel can restore a corporation,” Crowley spat. 

“And what exactly do you think you are?” Maeve smiled. “You’ve been a good boy,  _ Raphael _ . You deserve a treat.” And then She was gone.

“What the…?” Crowley blinked. He looked down at Aziraphale. The angel was almost completely gone, his features almost unrecognizable under the haze of light covering the sofa.

But then Crowley realized that the light was coming from himself.

He raised his hands, staring at the glow radiating from his fingertips. A  _ Heavenly  _ glow. Something surged through him, a kind of warm strength that was ancient but familiar. Barely aware of what he was doing, Crowley expanded his wings, catching a glimpse of them in the mirror hanging on the wall.

They were pure white.

No longer black and ashen, the marks of a demon, they had been transformed to a gleaming opaline color that matched those of his husband. And if his angel wings were back, that meant…

_ It can’t be!  _ Crowley reached into his essence, feeling for the last strains of the old juice that usually drifted there. But now that power was vibrant, pulsing in full strength at his core. His healing abilities were there, just like they had been so long ago, ready and willing to bring life and health with the barest thought.

Crowley fell to his knees once more, sobbing at the onslaught of emotions. He pulled Aziraphale’s corporation into his arms and  _ pushed  _ from within, willing healing into the body he loved so dearly. Willing breath. Willing life.

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open. “C-crowley?”

Crowley could only sob, overwhelmed. His powers were back. His angel was back. He was completely restored.

Aziraphale must have realized what had happened because he began to cry tears of joy, wrapping once lifeless arms around his husband. The two held each other there, weeping in relief, for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Aziraphale broke their silence. “She told me what happened,” he said softly. “Told me why, told me… everything.”

“It was worth it,” Crowley said, smiling as he pulled back to meet his husband’s eyes. “I would Fall again in a heartbeat knowing it would be what allowed  _ us _ .”

“And what are you going to do now? With your powers back?” Aziraphale kissed his lips lovingly.

Crowley hadn’t considered until now what he may be able to do with his heavenly abilities. But he knew instantly what he wanted, what he was sure Maeve had desired too. He expanded his consciousness, covering London and beyond in his unwavering love, and with a thought expelled all of Pestilence’s work from Earth. The coronavirus was gone in an instant.

Aziraphale smiled, knowing what he had just done. “Dinner, angel?” he asked.

Crowley smiled back. It felt nice to be called angel, to be reminded that he was on equal footing with his soulmate - that he had been all along. Hand in hand with Aziraphale, he began to walk toward the kitchen, where Hozier still crooned, but stopped as a grin broke across his face.

“I suppose  _ I  _ was the number one coronavirus doctor in London all along.”


End file.
